


Gift of a Fallen Angel

by jusinbello6782



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Sam Winchester, Forced Pregnancy, Implied Lucifer/Michael (Supernatural), M/M, Mpreg, Nephilim, Non-Consensual Lucifer/Sam Winchester, Pregnant Sam Winchester, Season/Series 06, Secrets, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-01-07 18:55:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12238731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jusinbello6782/pseuds/jusinbello6782
Summary: A mashup of Season 6 and Season 12. When Sam returned from Hell, he brought something extra back with him, the life of a Nephilim, and will do anything in his power to convince Heaven, Hell and hardest of all, his brother, that he is still able to create something good. I suck at summaries.





	1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE -- REUNION 

 

Hell was dark. 

It was all he knew since he fall. He was sat in the darkness, his back propped against something cold an hard, he had no idea what. Death was certain, he knew he was no longer among the living, nothing human could have survived that fall. But was he entirely sure this was Hell? From what his brother had described two years back, this was different, empty.

Sam Winchester felt his skin crawl at the idea of Lucifer locked inside with him, since entering the pit he believed he was alone, even so much as forgetting about the fallen archangel he presumed was locked somewhere inside with him as well as his late younger brother. The emptiness grew heavy on his mind, fear of becoming as tainted as the devil was as deep as the fear of being locked in eternity with that same being…  
But if this truly was Hell, it could be worse.

\---

“I know you won't. I know you won't say yes to Michael, either. And I know you won't kill Sam. Whatever you do, you will always end up here. Whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter, we will always end up—here. I win. So, I win….”

“You’re wrong.”  
“See you in five years, Dean.” 

“This thing goes our way and I triple-lindy into that box. You know, I’m not coming back.”

“So you gotta promise me something. You gotta promise not to try to bring me back.” 

“What? No, I didn’t sign up for that.” 

“You don’t have a choice.” 

“You can’t ask me to do this.” 

"I'm sorry, you have no choice." 

“So then what am I supposed to do?”

 

It had been a year and still Dean Winchester felt the longing tugging at his heart. Ben and Lisa were enough to distract him from the road he had always known, side by side with his little brother in the passenger seat. A month after Detroit, Dean occupied his schedule with filling in the cracks of his picket white fence, tending to the fescue lawn he had always dreamed of. He had picked up hours at the construction site, afterwards grabbing drinks with a few neighbors at the local Applebees. Every morning he would brew a pot of coffee, pack Ben’s lunch and drive him to school in his Ford250 listening to early talk shows, and pick up the paper on his way home where Lisa would be waiting with his breakfast and on the weekends Dean would wash the truck and vacuum whatever crumbs Ben would drop between the seats, organize the SnapOn tool chest Lisa had bought him for Christmas in the garage and spend the nights cuddled with her on the couch and snore as she caught up on her HGTV specials. For nearly his whole life, it was all Dean Winchester wanted, but without his Sam, life was not the same. 

It was one breezy September morning when Dean was hoovering forkfuls of scrambled eggs into his mouth that he came across a familiar headline on the front page in bold letters. 

FULTON WOMAN KILLED IN FREAK ACCIDENT  
AT DOWNTOWN TRICK AND NOVELTY STORE

He had work in an hour, and had seen many headlines just like it in the national paper the previous year, usually folding the pages over and skipping to the Business and Entertainment section on page 4B. This morning was different. It was the first day of a cool, sunny breeze announcing autumn had finally come, he was in good spirits, and he had respected Sam’s wishes this long. What harm was there in going around just to ask a few questions? Sam would approve…. He thought.  
It took him ten minutes to comb his hair, fix his tie and pack the truck with a duffle, kissing Lisa on the way out and fibbing that he had a job interview. He started the ignition, the roar of the engine pumping his heart with adrenaline, switching channels on the FM radio to the final chorus of Fortunate Son and cranking the volume as he tore out of the drive way, nearly hitting Lisa’s Camry, and putting pedal to the metal as Lisa dashed out the front door. 

“Dean, what about work?!” 

He had made it downtown in less than half an hour, parking the truck at a meter and grabbing the pistol out of his glovebox and his one remaining FBI badge-- It was then that he remembered his 11 to 9 job at the construction of the new grocery store and it was already 10:49. Choosing his fate for the day and accepting the expected dock off his paycheck, he stuffed the gun and badge into his lapels and exited the car.

Fulton police marked off the story cubby, onlookers brown nosing across the street as they ate their craft pizza.  
He ducked under the crime scene tape, immediately stopped by a blonde officer with a bun. “Sir, you can’t--”

“Agent Morrison, FBI.” He showed her a flash of his badge not even bothering to get a good look as Dean usually would as he entered the shop, a parade of at least a dozen officers and detectives interviewing witnesses, repeating his forged name loud enough for all to hear.

“Thought you guys had already left town.” A short officer in a rimmed hat approached him.

“I beg your pardon?” 

“Yeah, one of your buddies dropped in about noon yesterday. Big tall guy, right Davidson? What was his name… Uh, Agent Robert Dylan I believe. Ring a bell?” 

Dean couldn’t even swallow, the crime scene no longer mattered to him. “You said he was tall?” 

“Yeah, few inches taller than you, long hair pretty boy type. Does your agency typically hire their recruits from Vanity Fair?” 

Dean gave a fake smirk, hiding the anxiety and shock behind his gruff voice. “That’s very kind of you, could you tell me where Dylan said he was staying?”  
“Fairgrounds Inn on 5th Street, just a few blocks down but he said he would be gone by…” 

Dean was already out the door. 

It couldn’t have been Sam. It couldn’t have, the last he saw of his brother was jumping into the pit with a ticket straight to hellfire for eternity. He went straight down the boulevard, signs of 3rd and 4th street looming in the distance. 

He jogged the final block, bounding up the steps to the wooden inn and bee lining straight for the concierge. “Excuse me, Agent Morrison, I believe my partner was staying with you this weekend, know where I can find him?” 

The petite brunette in pink teardrop glasses loomed under his shadow, clearly awestruck. “Uh, uh Agent Dylan checked out at about 8 this morning…”  
Dean sighed heavily, running a palm over his mouth. 

“But he did leave his card....” 

The number rang 6 times and picked up to an automated voicemail box with an annoying tone.  
“Sam? Is this you? It’s Dean, give me a call… You know where I am.” 

It was then that Dean saw him. 

He was towering nearly a complete ten inches over the lunch crowd. His coppery brown hair was much longer than he had remembered, tickling his collar and flowing in the breeze over the same army green corduroy jacket and navy flannel left untucked from his acid wash jeans that had seen every battle and drop of blood the same as had Dean’s. That’s when their green eyes met—Dean didn’t even believe he was still breathing. It was Sam. His face appeared as if it had aged five years in the twelve months he had been absent, a stubble maturing the young face he had once known, but it was still his Sam, their gaze locked and exchanging a thousand words as the two stood in awe. 

“Sammy?!”

The form of his brother shook his mess of hair, and twisted on his heel as he turned away! 

“Wh—Sam!” 

He stepped out into the road, a minivan screeching to a halt to avoid hitting the dumbstruck pedestrian in a suit, and an angry middle aged woman yelled out her window berating him for not looking both ways. Dean waved her off, jogging across the two lanes before his hunter senses kicked in.  
Having led an imperfect life full of twists and turns, he readied himself for the inevitable truth as he returned to his truck, snatching the entire ‘hunter-on-the-go’ duffle bag and swinging it over his shoulder, not even bothering to lock the vehicle as he retraced his steps. 

Sam, or whatever it was impersonating Sam wouldn’t be difficult to find, and there he was around the corner street, walking casually as if he were waiting for Dean to catch up.  
A trap. 

As soon as he fell in line with his ‘brother’s’ footsteps, Sam moved faster, hands tucked in his pockets and determined to lure the rusty hunter wherever he wished.  
He reached the final block of the small town, veering off to the right and into the grass. 

Sam was trying to get him alone, and thankfully was not in any particular hurry to turn on Dean, giving him the perfect amount of time to ready the flask of holy water and silver blade in his palm. He trudged through the bushes and over the town’s abandoned train tracks and landmark red steam engine rusted into the rails.  
Dean followed him over the tracks and gravel, locating a small abandoned railroad construction office left for its history. Sam disappeared suddenly around the side of the locomotive, as if he had dissolved into thin air. 

“Sam?” Dean readied the pearl grips of his silver Colt, shocked by the weight in his hands that had been absent for nearly a year.  
There was a shift of gravel behind him, he twisted around—his grasp intercepted by a larger set of hands and body that collided with his and attempted to wrestle the gun from his hands. 

Dean sacrificed the hold on his pistol, and greeted the form of Sam with a splash of holy water, the body already beginning to sizzle and his brother’s form backed off.  
“Shit—Dean!” 

Dean was already ontop of him, cracking his knuckles against the jawline of Sam, the impact throbbing in his hand. Damn, he was rusty…. 

“Dean, stop! Dean--” He put up his hands in defense, his familiar deep voice laced with submission as he had no intention to fight. 

The older hunter had already sat onto of his chest, pressing the silver blade under Sam’s chin, pressing into his airways. 

“I know how this looks, but I’m not a demon—Not a shapeshifter either…” 

“Oh yeah, cause you seem pretty allergic to holy water.” He used his free hand to slosh the remains of the flask over his ‘brother’, Sam groaning as steamed off of him. “Now, I’m gonna give you 10 seconds to tell me who the hell you are, or I’m gonna send you with a one way ticket to purgatory.”  
“Dean, it’s me… It’s me I swear--”

Dean drew a line of blood on his stubbled throat. 

“Okay-okay! If I really wasn’t Sam, then how would I know that when you were 8 you had a crush on Tinkerbell… Uh, in 99’ you stole a poster of Sandy Olsson from a gift shop in Lake Tahoe, and you begged Dad for Batman bedsheets until you were 15.” Dean was listening at this point. “On your first solo hunt you wrecked the Impala leaving the motel 6, you always keep an emergency Kitkat bar under your pillow and you hide your condoms in the loose seams on the front seat…” 

“And why should I believe you? Last time I saw you, you dived into Hell!” 

“I did, I was there… I mean I was there up until a month ago, I don’t remember anything, but something happened to me in that Cage. I’m not even fully sure I’m still human, but Dean I will still always be your brother.” 

“Then why did you run from me? Lure me out here where nobody could hear?” 

“Because like you always do Dean, I knew you were going to cause a scene… I wasn’t about to have you pour a salt and holy water cocktail down my throat in front of Denny’s Pizza Parlor.” 

“Then why now, huh? Tell me that, also why you’re in Indiana of all places and see me of all things?!”

“Honestly, I was trying to avoid you.” That hurt. “I came to find you as soon as I woke up in that field, but you had everything Dean, you finally had what you wanted.” 

“No, what I wanted was my brother!” 

“ You wanted a family. You have for a long time, maybe the whole time. I know you. You only gave it up because of the way we lived. But you had something, and you were building something. Had I shown up, Dean, you would have just run off. I'm sorry. But it felt like after everything, you deserve some regular life..” 

“Well then you’re fucking stupid Sam because you’re my brother and if you truly are alive now there’s no way I would go back to pretending you’re gone. I went through twelve months of shit without you, hell if I’m gonna spend the rest of my life pretending you’re dead.” 

“Dean, I was dead…. And someone, something pulled me out and all I remember is waking up in that cemetery under a cross. I don’t know why, and I don’t know what happened in the Cage, or how I got out, all I do know is that….” His expression dropped, Sam’s greenish hazel eyes softening and clouding with tears. “It’s really good to see you, despite the circumstances.” He gazed to the silver blade still threatening to slice his jugular. 

Dean followed his gaze, and found the reflected red blood on the silver knife. Not a shapeshifter, skinwalker or a ghoul. “Sammy?” Dean choked on his brother’s name. 

“Yeah, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” 

“You look older.” 

“You look fatter.” 

The right side of Dean’s brain was pressing to finish the job, the left side yearning for the Sam he had believed dead for twelve months, his all familiar sass causing him to chuckle. Pushing aside his common sense, Dean tossed the blade into the gravel and embraced his brother. 

\---

Sam helped walk Dean back to his truck after the two had collected themselves and trudged back into town, the two of them equally soaked with holy water. The small talk was awkward, Dean’s fingers were still tingling and numb from adrenaline as they passed the Fairground Inn. “So it was all just a freak accident?”

“That’s right, security footage confirmed it. No foul play, no hex bags, nothing.” 

“Jeez, one minute you’re looking for your kid’s Halloween costume and next you’re living Final Destination.” Dean pressed the key on the automated lock, the Ford whistling in return. 

“Holy crap, what is that thing?” 

“Rich on oil, noisy and cheap.” Dean gave Sam a tight smile, tossing the duffle into the bed. “Need a ride?”

“Nah, I got my own, thanks. Uh, what happened to Dad’s car?”

“Still got it, wasn’t really home without… Well, you know.” 

Sam could see his cheeks flush under the layers of freckles, shrugging off the awkward talk. The two stood in silence for a moment, both swaying on their feet and finding something else to focus on. 

“So uh… You gonna in town much longer?” 

“Don’t know, not really on a schedule. I find a case, I follow it.” 

“Sam Winchester—Back from Hell and already on the job again.” Dean mused, an undertone of jealousy grabbing Sam’s attention. 

“It’s really not that great, but it’s what I’m still good at.” 

“Well if you ever need a hand….” Dean’s swallowed the words before Sam could berate him again, “You keep in touch. Answer your damn phone, too.” 

“Right. Well, I’ll let you know where I’m staying at next, it was really good to see you, Dean.” 

“You too.” 

They attempted a hug for .02 seconds, immediately backing off and brushing their shoulders awkwardly, and Dean scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, I should probably…”  
“Yeah. See you around, Dean.” Sam smirked as he backed down the sidewalk. 

Dean smiled to himself, concerned that it was too forced. His brother was back from Hell, very much alive and very much still his brother no matter how different he seemed, it was the missing piece to his puzzle. So why did it feel so strange? His stubbornness however wouldn’t allow them to part on such awkward terms…  
“Hey!” He called out, “Why don’t you stick around for a day or two, tomorrow we could go out for drinks?” 

“Sure.” They both shared an equally genuine smile. 

“See ya later…. Bitch.” 

Sam shook his head of shaggy hair, beaming back to Dean. “Jerk.” 

\---

Dean sighed in the best relief he had felt in months, sliding into the sun-warmed drivers seat and laying his head back. His brother, his Sam was finally home. It was definitely a good morning. He gazed over to his phone to check the time, a text message appearing on the home screen along with 6 missed calls from his old lady. 

Dean, Harvey says if you’re not at the site in 2 minutes, you’re fired. 

Sent thirty minutes ago. 

“Shit.”


	2. Chapter 2

\---   
“Dean, where the hell were you?!” 

“Dean, what the hell were you thinking?!” 

“Dean, do you have idea what time it is?!” 

“Dean, what the hell is going on?!” 

He was greeted by the influx of questions he had avoided via text message the second he walked in the front door, Lisa conducting her own interrogation as the retired hunter had returned home instead of going to work, the job she had worked so hard to get him those many months ago after every failed interview. 

Dean was in too good of spirits to allow her to bring him down, in fact this was the first time she had even yelled at him and through her screams and many uses of the word ‘hell’ he wondered if this was the reality he had missed growing up with a present mother. Normally he would become defensive as he used to with Sam, or take the words with a shot or four of Jack Daniels. He could hardly help but think though, that this made her absolutely adorable. 

“Lisa, it’s okay.” 

“Okay? You missed work and you’ve been gone for three hours on top of that! Just answer me this, where were you?” 

“I checked out a case. In town.” 

“A case…?” The dread filled in her dark eyes. “Are you hunting again?”

“No! ….Yes. I don’t know, I saw the ad in the paper and needed to check it out.”

“Dean…” She breathed, trying to calm her nerves. “I know it’s been a year, and after growing up in that lifestyle it’s hard to make a change, but you were doing so well, and if there is a hunt and you must check it out, don’t sacrifice your job for a silly--”

“It was Sam.” 

The name took a full minute to sink in, the anger dissipating from her eyes and almost into sadness. “Sam? Your brother, Sam?” 

“He’s back.” He knew the words would sting but couldn’t help the smile that threatened to ruin his tough-guy exterior. 

“H-how…?” Lisa knew that this question had become moot since she found out about Dean’s true life, but resurrection and life after death was something she never considered. 

“Beats me, he’s not entirely sure either. All I know is that he’s back, he’s alive.” 

_My brother’s alive…._

\---

_“You got kicked out of the house?”_

“Yeah, turns out she doesn’t like the words ‘italian housewife’ in reference to herself.” 

_"Dean..."_

“Yeah, yeah, where are you? I need to grab a drink.” 

_“Already there, Gilly’s Tavern on Avondale, see you in ten.”_

\---

“Contractor? Never really pegged you for the neon wearing minimum wage type.” 

“Yeah, well there’s a lot that’s changed. ‘Couldn’t exactly get a job at Cisco with my kind of resume. But it doesn’t matter anymore cause I got let go.” 

Sam shook his head with his usual shit-eating grin, “Dean Winchester got fired from construction?”

“Shut up.” Dean took a long swig of his lager, “My life has been as vanilla as secret life of the American teenager. What I wanna know is what you’ve been up to.” 

“As I said, just been hunting. I tried looking for whatever rescued me, trust me, I looked for weeks, even Bobby couldn’t figure it out.” 

“Bobby?” 

“Oops.” Sam muttered quietly to himself, knowing his brother would take immediate offense which came on cue. 

“You’ve been canoodling with Bobby all this time? And you guys didn’t even think to let me know that you’re alive? What, did you lose the ability to send a fucking text message?”

“Dean, you know why I didn’t. I wanted to, but it would have changed things back to the way they were, and I didn’t want that for you.” 

“What I wanted was you!” Dean bellowed a lot louder than he would have liked, earning a few judgmental glances from other patrons in the bar. Sam gave him a moment to collect his emotions, “But you’re here now, so I guess I can’t be too upset without looking like an asshole.” 

_Too late._ Sam swallowed the last bit of his lager, waving over the waitress for another round. “Excuse me, can I get a round of Kentucky Barrel? Two… Thank you.” 

“Putting it back now, are ya Sammy?” Dean leaned back into his chair, gazing at him as if he were scolding Ben. 

“It’s just one drink, don’t tell me after all this time you’ve started going to A.A.” 

“Quite the opposite, but you, you’ve got so much to live for…” The sarcasm in his tone was enough to make both cringe. Dean sighed, realizing he had started to sound like their late father. “It’s Hell, isn’t it?” 

“I don’t remember.” Sam’s tone was more warning and caged than he would have liked, immediately tipping Dean off. 

“Bullshit.” 

“Can we just cut it out Dean? You didn’t want to talk about it when you returned, why the hell would I?” 

“Cause you’re my brother, and Hell was…. Well, it was hell for me. You got bunkered up with the actual Devil for 12 months, I just wanna know what I’m dealing with.” 

“It’s just me. I told you yesterday, I tried looking into it, with no traces it seemed moot. I’m not going to tell you what happened in the cage because I don’t _remember_ it.” 

“Fine, fine. Got it.” Dean was thankful the waitress was quick to return with their drinks, both boys swallowing the awkward silence with their liquor. “That’s some good stuff. When have you been able to afford top shelf?” 

“Believe it or not, I’m actually a pretty good pool-shot. No thanks to your ego we could have been making bank a long time ago.” Sam tipped his glass in a jesting manner to his sensitive older brother who had always taken the lead in their con-schemes. 

“You trying to challenge me?”

“I might be.” 

The two moved their drinking to the attached pool hall, playing a few rounds of eight ball until Sam had won all, safe for Dean’s lucky shot during the last two balls. Dean was rusty, blaming it on his absence as an excuse as to why his little brother was kicking his ass despite three rounds of bourbon and two IPA’s.

“Come on, Sammy, one more round.” 

Sam was already counting the bills in his pocket, “Think I’m gonna call it a night. Got another case in Wichita I gotta head to in the morning. Looks like a poltergeist.” 

“Dude, what’s up with Poltergeists and Kansas already?” 

“Don’t know.” Sam put up his cue stick on the rack as well as the triangle, “But it’s our—My job to take care of it now. I’ll still be around.” 

Dean breathed through his disappointment, beating Sam to the bar and slapping two twenties down. “On me. Call it a birthday gift for the one we missed last year. But I swear Sammy that’s the last time I’m paying for topshelf.” 

The two chuckled together, Dean’s laughter falling short in realization. “Shit, I got kicked out.”

“You need a place to squat for the night?”

“You mind?” 

“Not at all.” 

\---

The two shared a smile and returned to the inn, Sam removing his dirty suit and tools from the bed. “Here, I’ll take the couch. Make sure to give Lisa a call to let her know where you are.” 

“Yeah, yeah, will do, Mom. Thanks.” 

Sam gave him a smirk and took the first opportunity in the bathroom to ready himself for bed. Dean relaxed back on the box spring, his mind flooding with memories of the two always being cooped up in crappy motel rooms with crappy wallpaper and crappy room service. He retrieved his cell from his back pocket expecting a dozen text messages and missed calls from his ‘old lady’. 

He dialed the numbers on the screen, her name autocorrecting in his contacts as he stared at the name. 

_Lisa, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to call you that, you’re my one and only, my princess, please take me back…_

He cringed at his train of thought, he had never been the kind to drunk dial an ‘ex’ if Lisa was even considered that at this point. He never had to apologize, he even avoided that kind of talk with Sam unless the two were at the brink of the apocalypse. 

_Hey, Lisa. Sorry about earlier. Been a little frazzled lately, but I know one part of me that’s still into_ “Noooo.” He stopped himself there knowing no woman appreciated an apology followed by innuendo. 

He contemplated the idea of a simple text message, but decided against it. He had fought ghosts, ghouls, angels, demons, even stopped the damn apocalypse but even Dean Wincester was stumped when it came to women. 

“Hey, Sam! What kind of sappy shit would you say if your girl was mad at you?” He waited for an answer, knowing his brother would only be rolling his eyes in the mirror. “Seriously, I have no idea what to say.” 

A series of coughs came through the door crack. 

“Sam? Sammy, you okay?” Dean crossed the room to creak open the bathroom door. 

“Urgh…” Sam was bent over the toilet, a line of spittle from his lips running into the soiled bowl of vomit. 

“Damn, dude, thought you said you could hold your liquor.” 

“I never said that.” Sam retorted weakly, spitting the sour remains into the toilet as he held his cramping middle. 

“Need anything?” 

“Some water, yeah.” He groaned, leaning against the tub as Dean played mother and got his hungover brother a glass. He had returned just in time for the second wave to hit Sam, barely making it in time to purge the remains of his alcohol consumption. 

“Shit dude, that stinks.” 

He expected an irritable _‘Shut up’_ from his little brother, only to be met with more gagging and coughing sounds. If he still had any doubt of Sam’s morality and alibi since the cage, it was flushed down the toilet with the putrid remains of Sam’s stomach. 

Dean sat on the edge of the tub, rubbing his back as whatever was plaguing Sam’s insides refused to let up, playing the parent as he always had when Sam ate too much candy on Halloween or a bad night of binge drinking when they would have a fight with their father. 

“All right, get it out. It’s okay. It’ll be okay, buddy.” 

“I don’t feel good.” The waves of nausea were unforgiving, twisting his insides in a vice. “This isn’t normal…” Sam croaked, gagging on his own tongue. 

“Yeah, well what part of our lives are normal, Sam? I went to Hell, you went to Hell, our mother burned on the ceiling, we hunt monsters. Heck, remember that time we fought that swamp thing in Flathead? Got this nasty yellow green slime all over us, had to throw our clothes out after that and wander back into town in our bare--” He was interrupted by the sounds of his brother puking once again, giving him a soft slap on the shoulder. “Atta boy.” 

“I hate you.” 

“Yeah, yeah I know. What would you do without me?” 

“Fuck, Dean, this really hurts.” 

“It’ll pass. Remember that one time you got food poisoning from Captain Frankie’s seafood shack? You were bent over--”

“Enough with the stories! I remember! Oh god…” He trailed off, belching his most recent gag reflex into the soiled water. 

“Just tryin’ to help you get it out, Sam.” 

“Well, don’t!” 

“Fine, have it your way. Gonna run down to the lobby see if they have any pepto for you.” Dean set the water on the rim of the tub and excused himself to let Sam finish in his own privacy and silence safe for the occasional gag. Dean saundered down the hallway, locating a vending machine and retrieving two ginger ales and a bag of skittles for himself before returning to their room and staring at his cell phone for another five minutes. 

He had heard Sam vomit twice more before dragging himself out of the bathroom, stripped down to his white undershirt and gripping his stomach.   
“Still feeling like crap? Here.” He tossed Sam a can of Canada Dry. “You uh, go on take the bed. Closest to the restroom in case you gotta…” 

“Got it, thanks.” Sam waved him off, the irritable teenager inside of him taking over his 27 year old body, crawling onto the mattress searching for rest that would hopefully fast forward this horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

“Get some rest, Sammy. Remember you got a big day tomorrow.” Dean mocked, fluffing the pillow on the sofa. 

“Shut up, jerk…” He muffled into his pillow with a groan of lingering nausea. 

“G’night, bitch. Sleep tight.” 

\---

_Screams tore him from his slumber in the darkness. How he had even fallen asleep was beyond his knowledge, did the dead even sleep? At this time would be when his eyes would adjust, and he would prefer to be greeted by Dean singing terrible hair band tunes, or to the face of evil itself. He would have favored the latter; Blackness and void was all he knew in the cage. It could be worse, it could be worse, it could be worse…. He repeated to himself for what seemed like hours. Maybe he did remind himsef for hours, the time in the cage was nowhere near relative to the time topside. For all he knew he could have been down there for years._

_They came again, a chorus of animalistic screeches tearing him from his momentary sanity, the shrill ranges of the human vocal cords sending chills from his chest to his fingertips, the cries of the damned morphing into an all familiar cackle._

_His eyes widened in recognition, the glow appearing to hover in the velvet blackness. The light melted into a bright crimson, two swimming orbs of hellfire staring back at him in the dark._

_He couldn’t make out any features or tear his eyes from the two staring into his, but he knew Lucifer was grinning.  
“Why hello, Sam.” _


	3. Chapter 3

Sam startled awake, his heart pounding in his chest as if he had almost fallen out of bed, the sudden adrenaline rushing all the way to his toes. It had been a year since he had felt fear—the only recent time was when he stood inches away from the mouth of Hell opening up to swallow him and Adam. That was only a distant memory now, and at the time he couldn’t recall why he had even woken up.

His eyes focused on the faded yellow ceiling and pattern wallpaper, remembering he was in the motel with—“Dean?” He strained his voice, his throat still sore and chapped from his night before. 

He rolled carefully onto his left side, staring ahead at the red sofa.

Empty. 

He didn’t need to call out for his brother again; Dean was gone, already headed back to his normal life with his normal housewife.

He rubbed his eyes, slower to wake up than usual. In fact, since he had returned to the living, his human body seemed to be bogged down, he grew tired easier, even his appetite had festered. The time in the cage had definitely aged his soul, but what had occurred, he couldn’t recall. 

Maybe that was for the best, aside from the occasional sluggishness and vertigo, at least he was back. 

He pulled the sheets away from his body, noticing his shirt was soaked with sweat—whatever had caused the nausea from the night before had been flushed from his system, thankfully. He yanked the soiled tee over his head, searching over the sofa for the note that he assumed Dean had left for him. 

He found it on the coffee table, his familiar all-caps handwriting bringing a smile to his face. 

_Didn’t wanna wake ya, sleeping beauty. Gotta talk with Lisa. If you don’t hear from me by 5, it means give me a proper burial, or we’re “busy” making up. Don’t leave town yet—got something for you. -- Dean. By the way, you owe me $20._

\---

Dean had mulled it all over in his head the past eight hours and had it down to a perfect science, heck if he ever quit hunting, acting might be a good choice for him. He had spent the entire night staring at his cell phone, repeating the scenarios over and over in his head. His speech was flawless, even if he had practiced it in the reflection of his phone for hours, it still remained genuine. 

It was already 9, and Ben was well off on his way to school. Good, if things went his way, then the two could use the time alone to make up in the bedroom. 

He pulled into the driveway behind the navy Camry, Lisa was already back home and in his favor, she was definitely a morning person. 

Dean unlocked the front door to the sound of food sizzling on the stove. She was making breakfast, and if she had expected him back, he would be greeted by a plateful of the best home cooking he’s ever had. Lisa was pouring herself a glass of orange juice, her black hair tousled, her clothes accentuating her figure, rousing the perpetual state of being that was Dean’s libido. 

“Morning.” He announced his arrival. 

“Dean?” She didn’t exactly look thrilled to see him. “Where have you been?”

“Now, before you start, let me just say this…” He took a breath, ready for his final performance. “I know things haven’t been easy as of yesterday, I never expected Sam to return to us, but that doesn’t mean that our lives have to change. He’s--”

“Dean, I think we should spend some time apart.” 

“What?” Not exactly the response he expected. “Lisa, all I did was spend the night at a motel…” 

“I know. But what happens when that turns into several, when you’re 500 hundred miles away in Minnesota hunting… I don’t know, werewolves?” 

He was stumped.

She sighed, leaning on the counter. “I’ve been thinking a lot recently. What we’ve had the past year has been wonderful, you’ve been so good to me and been a great role model for Ben. He loves you as much as I do, and with Sam back, I don’t see how we we fit into your lifestyle anymore.” She sensed his rebuff, beating him to it, “Don’t Dean, because we both know what you’ll choose. And I’m not asking you to, I just know that is your life. This is mine. But we have to do what we think is best for Ben. We can’t worry about you going out on a hunt, if you’ll ever come back in one piece to us. You’ve lost your family, and I know that’s one of the worst things a person can go through, but I don’t want my son to experience that as well. Not yet.” 

“Lisa, we can figure this out, we can make it work! Just because Sam is back it doesn’t mean that we have to end things—we can figure this thing out!” 

She gave him a sad smile, “I don’t think we can. I won’t do that to Ben. We were here for you when you needed it most, and now what you need is Sam.” 

“What I need is all the people I love!” 

“I’m sorry. I love you too, Dean. But I can’t live like this. We both knew that this would happen if your brother ever returned or if we were ever caught in the crossfire. And it’s okay. I think I’ve known this for quite a while.” 

Dean was at a loss for words, his heartstrings torn in two directions, his ego attempting to crush the part of him that knew she was right. 

“You can see Ben whenever you’re in town, but please, come back in one piece?”

“Lisa, I….” 

“You should go.” Her kinds words were spent, her maturity about the situation was beginning to dwindle and she knew the two would become emotional if they stood in each other’s presence for any longer. 

His gut was tightening, for a moment he felt as if he were going to be sick. “I don’t--”

“Just go, Dean.” 

She tore her dark eyes away from him, turning back to the stovetop leaving Dean with an all familiar hole in his heart. 

All Dean could do was stare at the dining table, the many mornings he had spent there, many nights with the family he had always missed. Heartache he could deal with, losing another family, and… 

“Would it be all right…” The words croaked out of his mouth, strained by the stifling of tears that threatened to break through him. “If I said goodbye to Ben?” 

She hesitated, but knowing that her son would never forgive her, she nodded. And Dean was gone, leaving her to finally heave and sob over her breakfast as she heard the Impala’s motor start and then fade into the distance.

\---

It took him fifteen minutes to reach Ben’s school, after nine months of driving down the same road in the Ford, it took him until he was pulling in the carpool lane to realize it would be his last. Dean spent ten minutes in the driver’s seat before exiting and going to the principal’s office to request a visitor’s pass. 

Ben met him outside the chainlink recess area, his heart thumping in his chest, nausea and pain gripping the remainder of his soul tight. 

“Dean? What are you doing here?” The question was more of an act of defense and disassociation than what Dean would have liked, but it was soon followed by concern as he read the pain on his foster-father’s face. “Is mom okay?” 

“She… She’s fine. Came here to talk is all.” Dean offered him a wry smile, patting the bench seat on his right.

“You know I have to go back in, I’m nearly flunking pre-algebra.” 

“You’re already taking algebra? Wow…. Uh. It’s okay, this will only take a minute. Come here.” 

Ben noticed the Impala parked a few meters away and dropped his bookbag, staring at Dean as if he had just admitted to being Charles Manson. “You’re leaving.”

Dean licked his dry lips. “Yeah.” 

The 12 year old’s face wrinkled in a mix of anger and sadness as he shook his head.

“Ben, I screwed it up for everyone, and I couldn’t even tell you how sorry I am.” 

The next few words to come out of Ben’s mouth made Dean want to die as the boy began to choke on his tears. “It’s all my fault. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I know I’m a wreck, a pain, a--”

“No, Ben. No. Come here.” Dean grabbed his arm, pulling the boy beside him. Ben immediately wrapped his arms around the man who he had always wished was his father. “Don’t you dare think that, don’t you dare.” 

“Then why are you going…?” 

“It’s….” He drew a heavy breath in, “It’s Sam. My brother. He’s alive and he needs me, too.” 

“But I need you too, and so does Mom!” 

“I know, buddy. But your Mom doesn’t need me anymore. She thinks that it will be best, and don’t you go taking this all out on her now. She needs to take care of you the best way she knows how, and bunking with someone who hunts Dracula and Satan on a daily basis doesn’t exactly fit into that lifestyle anymore.” 

“Will I ever see you again?”

“Of course. Just cause I’m gone to Kansas or the east coast doesn’t mean I won’t come when you call. I will always. Always.” 

Ben continued to cry into his leather jacket. “I wish you were my dad.” 

_So do I…_

Dean rubbed the boy’s back, using all of his strength to keep from letting his emotion win him over. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay. I promise. You and your mom are gonna be okay.”   
“How do you know?” Came the muffled reply from his chest. 

The weathered hunter thought for a moment, and pulled Ben away. “Here. This is how.” He revealed a switchblade from his pocket. 

Ben wiped his face. “But I thought I wasn’t allowed.” 

“Oh, you’re not, and don’t let your Mom see because she’ll hunt me down…. But you gotta take care of her, okay? Now this can kill most monsters, and I hope you never have to use it. So if you think something’s weird, a little out of the ordinary, if the lights even flicker, you call me, you understand?” 

The 12 year old nodded, stuffing the blade into his backpack. 

“Now don’t let your teacher see that and don’t go showing it off to your friends either, okay?” 

“Okay. I’m gonna miss you.” 

“I’m gonna miss you too, squirt.” Dean draped an arm over the boy once more, ruffling his hair. “Take care of her, you’re the man of the house now. I’ll still be around though.” He gave Ben a squeeze, “Now before I get you into trouble again, looks like you need to head back in before you flunk.” 

“Can’t you take me out? Tell them I’m sick?” Ben’s pleading eyes made Dean almost melt. 

“I wish. But ya gotta make your Mom proud. You promised me, okay?” 

He nodded once more as Dean stood up, squeezing the keys in his palm.

“Dean?” 

“Yeah, bud?” 

“Any last minute advice on girls?” 

He could almost chuckle, picking up Ben’s backpack and putting it over his shoulders and fixing his hunter green jacket. “Don’t go looking too hard now, and don’t go under the bleachers until you’re 15. Girls at this age are difficult, but when you’re ready you’ll know. And if they ever, _ever_ give you trouble, you give me a call.”

“I will. And Dean?” 

“Yeah, bud?” 

Ben hugged his arms around Dean’s waist and back squeezing him tight. “That’s for Sam. Tell him I’m not mad at him, I’m glad he’s back.” 

“Same here, Ben….” The hunter sighed, glancing over to their reflection in the car’s mirror paint, the comfort and words finally seeping in to soothe the recent heartache. 

_Same here…._


End file.
